


drops of daisies on your lavender dress

by Itslynxa



Series: and some say that flowers do not talk (but we both know that is far from the truth [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, First Meetings, Flirting, Good Morgana (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27382711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itslynxa/pseuds/Itslynxa
Summary: The idea of finding herself a personal maidservant is an absurd idea, Morgana thinks, and it takes one meeting for her to have a change of heart.
Relationships: Gwen/Morgana (Merlin)
Series: and some say that flowers do not talk (but we both know that is far from the truth [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000302
Comments: 14
Kudos: 34





	drops of daisies on your lavender dress

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by a Tumblr prompt sent me, "Could you do a Morgwen one-shot about how Gwen became Morgana’s Maid and just have it be super sweet? They don’t even need to end up together it can be an implied future thing...", and for the most part, I read this as them meeting but I do fulfil the prompt towards the end. I received this prompt after I wrote my first morgwen fic, "flowers bloom as does my love", and I thought it fit so I thought I'd make this as a follow up of sorts. If you have read the other fic, then that will give some context, but honestly, you do not need to read that one to understand this one.
> 
> I hope that you enjoy it!

It is the first day of winter when her duties are exponentially increased, likely due to the high demands of upkeep in the castle. Though she considers herself a hardworking citizen of the kingdom, especially one of her position, she finds the prospect of accomplishing these duties alone, damning. 

She doesn't have to do these tasks alone, but she chooses to - in all honesty, she could use a helping hand, but the prospect of finding herself a personal maidservant to do so feels unjust. The King has been asking her of finding a personal maidservant, ever since she became his ward at eleven springs old, but she has always refused.

It just does not feel right, to employ somebody solely to be her companion.

Back in her home kingdom, she'd always fulfil her duties alone, though there weren't so many as there are now, she was young then. It is different now, and she needs to remind herself that, but staring at the lavenders in her room, it is hard to not muse on the past. 

Many things remind her of her old home, and sometimes she wishes that she could go back - but there'd be nothing there, her parents are long gone, their remnants have long faded away too. 

It would not feel the same, not at all. 

If she could have it her way, she'd bring them back, without a shadow of a doubt - and for the moment, she wonders if there is a way to do that, a resurrection of sorts. It is forbidden - she shan't think of it any longer. The idea of sorcery, nevertheless an act of it, is absurd.

She feels so alone, a foreigner in her new home, with no familiarity with her old kingdom - as she ages, her earliest memories are beginning to fade, though she does not stop the clinging to them.

There are hardly any constants here, only mandatory tasks and appeasing the ruthless King, though there has been one constant in her life, even since arriving in this castle.

The only constant that has never left, not once, is her fascination for flowers, if anything, it has only bloomed more.

She stares upon her lavenders, that lay beside her bedside, and her mind wanders - it always does at night. If she does find herself a maidservant, which she refuses to, would they take over her duty of maintaining the flowers? It would merely disrupt her routine, the core of her foundation, and the prospect of this happening terrifies her.

Flowers ground her as if she were the dirt that they grow on.

If someone takes away, then what will be left of her?

She neglects the thought, burying it to where it usually lays within her mind, to think of more spiritful things - the upcoming winter celebration, perhaps. 

Before she falls into a slumber, she spends some time thinking of the flowers to use in the celebration - incarnations, roses, fennels to name a few, a smile on her face blooms as she sleeps.

-

The King announces the winter feast celebration the following day, and upon the announcement, she finds herself lurking the castle for ideal places to place the flowers.

It does not fade him or the people once.

-

A couple of days later, a knight stops her in her tracks, while rosemaries fill her hands to the brim.

'Hello, Lady Morgana', he greets, smiling, 'due to the upcoming feast, I require a personalised dagger, requested of the king.'

'I see, and how does this concern me?'

The knight raises his eyebrow, 'the king informed us that any requests are to be delivered by you.'

Morgana looks down at her rosemaries, 'does it have to be right now? I am working on the flowers', she asks.

'Of course not', he answers, 'whenever you are ready.'

'Has the dagger already been prepared?', she questions, placing some of the rosemaries into plant holders.

'Yes, my Lady.'

'Very well, I will make sure to head to the blacksmiths and retrieve it for you, sir knight.'

'Thank you.'

She smiles, nodding, and he takes it as the cue to leave. The King seemingly thought it absurd to inform her of the new arrangement, that she will retrieve any requests of the knights or whoever else, but she supposes it is just another aspect of her vast duties. 

The King shall prepare for a word, for she will give him some.

-

'Lady Morgana.'

It is the first thing that she hears upon entering the throne room.

'Yes, sire?'

The King is sitting on his throne. There are little people in the room with them, which is an unusual change, but she appreciates it for the conversation that is about to occur. He does not respond but merely gestures a hand for her to speak.

'I have some complaints, sire.'

He looks intrigued, 'and they are?'

'You are giving me vast too many duties to handle, sire, I am only but one person.'

'It would not be so bad if you had a maidservant, as I've been suggesting for the last seven years, Morgana.'

She looks down, 'I understand, sire, that you want me to have a personal maid but - I cannot bring myself to.'

'Then you shall suffer the consequences, dismissed.'

It is not the first time that the King has spoken to her abruptly, and she recognises that it will not be the last, but the sudden blow of attitude still stuns her. Times like these make her realise that the King is no longer the man that he once was, in the days that he would visit her (and her family) back home. 

She wonders if the courtesy that the King once showed years ago was a ruse of sorts, for she has witnessed many deaths since arriving here, something that she never imagined before living here. The difference between this kingdom and her own is vast and immense, and times like these, it only shows.

It occurs to her that she has yet to leave the throne room, explaining the look of anger upon the King's face, so she escapes quickly. 

There are always flowers that need reorganising elsewhere.

-

It is now the following day, and she finds herself preparing to head to the blacksmiths.

The weather is crisp, so she bundles herself in thick clothing, and leaves the citadel for the main towns. On the way there, she notices flowers that need shelter from the climate, as some are beginning to wither, but she finds herself unable to help them.

The request of the dagger feels more important than protecting the precious dandelions, for some reason.

She opens the door to the blacksmiths, to find a woman instead of a man there. 'Oh, you are not Elric?', the question comes out of her mouth without realising it.

The woman, gorgeously dressed in lavender and daisies, chuckles in response, 'no, I am unfortunately not, my Lady.'

'Then who might you be?', she asks. 

The mysterious woman beams, 'I am Guinevere, though many call me Gwen for short, my Lady.'

'Gorgeous', says Morgana, with a loss of a mind filter.

She blushes, 'thank you? I think you are gorgeous too.'

'You do?'

'Of course, my Lady.'

'I did not mean to say that, but I will not take back my words.'

'As will I', the woman replies, 'I assume that the King has not informed you that Elric is no longer the blacksmith then, my Lady?'

'No, he did not, but he does not inform me much these days. It does not surprise me in the slightest.'

Guinevere frowns at what she says, 'I see, anyway, I have the item that you are looking for.'

'I did not tell you as to why I am here?'

'You did not need to, my Lady.'

Morgana looks at her, admiring her dress and its colourings, 'I like your dress, it is a wonderful colour.'

'Thank you. I adore your dress.'

'It is not much, but thank you, are you not cold? It is winter, after all.'

Guinevere looks down, 'yes, but my father and I do not have much material or income right now to buy some better clothing.'

Morgana speaks before thinking, once again, 'I see, well, would you like a position as my maidservant?'

She swore that to herself that she would never find herself a personal maidservant, weighing our the advantages and disadvantages of it twice and over, and yet, here she is - asking it of a woman, so gorgeous that she cannot think of her words. 

'If you wish for me to be your maid, then, of course, my Lady.'

Morgana cannot go back on her word now, not without looking absurd, 'then I will consider it.'

Guinevere places the dagger on the counter, after seemingly remembering why she is there in the first place.

'So, will I see you again?'

'I hope so, my Lady.'

She retrieves the dagger, before looking up at the other woman, who looks exceptionally better up close, and she steps back - before she does something that she regrets. It takes some courage for her to head towards the door, rather than get closer, but she does it, but she turns before she leaves. 'Just so you know, lavenders are my favourite', she says.

'Then I am glad that I wore lavender today', says Guinevere.

Morgana smirks in response, but pauses at the thought of an idea, 'on second thought.'

The other woman stares as she approaches once again, but the confusion does not last as she wraps the blacksmith's daughter in her winter coat, 'since you know, you said you were cold, and cannot afford thicker clothing', says Morgana.

'Thank you, my Lady, but you do not have to.'

'No, I insist, I would not want my future maidservant to be cold after all.'

Guinevere fully beams, her smile reaching her eyes, 'as much as I'd like you to stay, you should go, the knight may want his dagger right about now.'

'I suppose I should, so I'll see you later?'

'Yes, my Lady, I will make sure of it.'

Morgana finally leaves the blacksmiths, on the second attempt of doing so, and she smiles the entire way to the training grounds where the knights are. 

-

The King is surprised upon her request of a personal maidservant, after years of utter refusal, for she is glad for the change of heart. 

It does not take long for him to accept the request, with no complaint on the idea.

She is happy.

-

It also does not take long for her rooms to fill to the brim with something other than lavenders - love, for example, and it never once withers.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> I crave validation, so please do send kudos and comments.
> 
> Fun fact, like the previous morgwen fic, I also listened to "Wildest Dreams" by Taylor Swift on repeat.


End file.
